


Bound in Blood

by Cunninglinguist



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anger, Blood, Blood and Gore, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Meetings, Memories, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Murder, Slow Burn, Smoking, Warped Moral Compass, Zombie Apocalypse, well at least for me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8681788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cunninglinguist/pseuds/Cunninglinguist
Summary: Negan meets his match.





	

The first time that I met Negan, I was covered in blood after killing a man at least a head and a half taller than me (and twice my weight) with a metal pipe. In all fairness, he had been trying to take my shit—shit that I had made. Shit that I had stolen. Shit that, one way or another, I had earned. It wasn’t going to happen for him.

I had tried to let him off easily—I even feigned giving him the benefit of the doubt, luxurious and irresponsible as that notion was, just to give him an out. I nailed him with a blow to the leg first, but the motherfucker just kept coming. 

I didn’t want to kill him, at least not at first, but there was something about the tenacity of his entitlement that made my blood boil. I don’t remember much of what happened next, but by the time the last wheeze and gurgle had passed his lips and his body lay still, blood was congealing on my trembling flesh and my breathing was harsh and labored. 

I had been between groups at the time, posting up in an abandoned cottage amidst a small forest. I knew I wasn’t far from other people, but I was just far enough that we could exist in one another’s peripheries without endangering or imposing upon each other. I also knew that this situation was almost laughably unsustainable.

I had given up smoking long before the current, unfortunate state of affairs, but when I looked down at the mangled carcass oozing its fluids onto my linoleum…damn, did I want a cigarette. Something strong and flavorful…a Turkish Royal, maybe. My mouth watered.

“What in the holy fucking hell.” 

I whirled around, heart pounding. There he was, entirely unknown to me at the time: his voice booming yet amused, his silhouette imposing in the humble doorway. Fuck, I can remember berating myself in that moment for not triple-checking the haphazardly-strung, cacophonous pots and pans that lined the perimeter of my tiny property. 

“Who the fuck are you?” I asked sharply, my knees bent, body hunched and ready to lunge, pipe still heavy in my hand though I yearned to drop its weight to the floor. I knew there were cigarettes in the back pocket of the cooling body's jeans—I’d seen the crumpled box top when I’d knocked him to his hands and knees. Maybe they were Marlboros? I furrowed my brow. Hopefully they weren’t Reds. Then again, beggars can’t be choosers and all that. 

The unexpected visitor chuckled, stepping slowly into the dying sunlight that haunted the room. The first thing that I noticed was the baseball bat wrapped in bloody barbed wire—it glinted in the light, still wet. My eyes wandered: weathered leather jacket, knife strapped to his thigh, blood on his face…oh, damn. He was tall, and alarmingly handsome—a salt and pepper beard adorned a strong jaw, full lips curled into a cocky smirk (oh shit—and dimples to boot!), head full of dark, slicked-back hair, and most notably—deep, expressive eyes that danced with an amused malcontent that both confused and intrigued me.

(I’m sure those hadn’t been my exact thoughts at the time—I had still been in fight or flight mode, knuckles white where they gripped the pipe forcefully. I doubt that I had processed or understood his physical appeal in that moment, but it would be false to claim that my current knowledge of the man in question didn’t inform the memories of our first meeting.)

“I’m Negan,” he said, smiling broadly. “And you, darlin’…well. You look like the kind of girl I’d like to have on my side.”

He lowered the bat to the ground and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. I didn’t drop the pipe, but I did squat down to fish the cigarettes out of the dead man’s back pocket. Our eyes locked, and I nearly stumbled. Maybe it was the fatigue.

“Alright, _Negan_ ,” I said, wiping my hands on my pants before plucking the least crushed cigarette out of the box and sticking it between my lips. “Why should I trust you?”

In an instant, he crossed the room to stand directly in my personal space, smiling and brandishing a half-used packet of matches. 

“You shouldn’t,” he said, eyes glowing like embers.

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-da! Chapter One revealed. While I do have a decent amount of the rest of this written, I am not certain how long it's actually going to be (most likely not too terribly long).
> 
> I am also not sure how much of this I want to reveal yet, which is why the summary is so short. I can, however, guarantee 1500% that the tags and the rating are going to change as I post more of this. 
> 
> If you liked this, please let me know in the form of comments and kudos. Also, do come yell about Negan and TWD with me on [Tumblr](http://hannibalssweaters.tumblr.com/).


End file.
